After Sandy: Too Sick To Ride

The storms have passed.  Most of today was overcast and rather chilly. I don't mind either.  At least the wind and rain are gone, for now.

So, I thought, I'd finally get out for a good long (or longish) ride this weekend.  And I would do something charitable.

Well, it didn't happen today.  I started to feel aches and congestion earlier this week.  On Thursday, one of my classes was observed, and I could just barely get through it. I rested yesterday but still felt tired and congested today.  And my cough has gotten more persistent.

I felt so drained that I didn't even volunteer to help storm victims in the Rockaways, as I'd planned on spending at least some time this weekend.  

Of course, this isn't the first time I haven't felt well enough to ride.  It's also not the first time I had to cancel or postpone plans to be of service to the community.  But it might be the first time both happened.  So, as best as I can recall, this is the first time I have felt both cheated and guilty.  It sounds like a weird combination, I know.  But the last couple of weeks have not been ordinary.  

Well, at least I know that even at my age, there is still plenty of time left for bike rides and service to others.

Hoping That It Doesn't Become Merely A Memory

From Steve Greer Photography

I came across this image that reminded me of a ride I used to take at this time of year when I was in college.

Turns out, the cyclist in the photo is taking the same ride.  

He's pedaling the Delaware and Raritan Canal towpath, which winds for seventy miles through Central New Jersey, from the Raritan River in New Brunswick to the Delaware River in Bordentown.  

Paths were built along it, as they were along other canals, to allow mules to tow the barges.  Those paths fell into disuse as steam engines were used to propel the boats and, eventually, the canals themselves fell into disuse as railroads and, later, highways cut through the land.

The D&R Canal provided some of the best foliage rides in New Jersey--and, I daresay, the region.  One problem with it, though, is that it's in a flood-prone area.  Now, in the aftermath of Hurricane Sandy, I wonder whether the canal or the nearby rivers have spilled over onto the paths, and the land around it. I also wonder how many of those trees are still standing.

Although I haven't ridden the D&R in a long time, I hope that a favorite ride of my past doesn't become merely a memory.  For that matter, I hope the same fate doesn't befall the Rockaways, Point Lookout or Coney Island.

When Chattering Bike Geeks Perform A Public Service

If your bike is stolen in New York City, you have about a two percent chance of getting it back.  

Agata Slota didn't expect to beat those odds.  Her bike--which her brother built for her--was lifted near Union Square five years ago.  She posted an ad and photo on Craigslist.  A week later, they expired and she had not received any responses. She and her boyfriend started to plan on a replacement.

However, a friend posted the photo and an announcement of the theft on an online chat room for fixed-gear enthusiasts.  Several weeks later, someone posted a response after seeing Ms. Slota's bike locked up outside a Quizno's restaurant in Midtown.  This led to a series of a series of messages that resulted in Ms. Slota getting her bike back.

Jack Drury, a former bike messenger who was interning at Transportation Altenatives, was one of the people who read the post.  He went to the Quizno's restaurant.  The bike wasn't there, but on a hunch, he went inside and talked to the person behind the counter, who said the bike belonged to a delivery man who paid $200 for it. 

After negotiating a deal to buy the bike, Drury then enlisted a group of volunteers to go with him to the Quizno's, where the man with the bike was supposed to meet them.  He didn't show, but another employee told them about the man's second job as a dishwasher in an Upper West Side restaurant.  So Drury and his posse rode uptown where they met the man, who wasn't a very enthusiastic negotiator.  Drury then pulled out his cellphone and dialed the police.  While he was waiting to be connected, the man gave in.

Drury doesn't believe the man stole the bike and doesn't harbor any ill will toward him.  In fact, he offered the man one of his own bicycles and gave him his number. He hasn't heard back.

Needless to say, Ms. Slota has become more vigilant about bike theft.  From Drury, she learned not to lock her bike to a horizontal bar of a construction scaffold, as it is fairly easy to unscrew.  Better to lock it to the vertical post. 

She applied that lesson recently, when she saw two men admiring a Bianchi track bike in the way prospective thieves would.  When she asked the men about the bike, they took off.  Then, she got one of her own locks out of her office and secured the bike (which had been attached to the horizontal bar) to the vertical bar.    

She left a note with her phone number, and a message that she would unlock the bike after its owner called her.  Clearly, her own experiences motivated her to help prevent something similar (though with the probability of a less-happy outcome) from happening to somebody else.

And she's still riding the bike her brother built for her.

Cycling On Pavement--Or Sidewalks

Photo by Richard Drdul on Flickr

"Luv 2 Cycle"'s most recent post raises a very interesting issue.

Its author, Zandranna, is a pensioner who lives in the Dorset countryside and uses her bicycle as her only means of transportation.  In the post in question, she discusses Rule 64 of Britain's  1931 highway code, which forbids cyclists from cycling on pavement.

Being a Yank, I wondered, "Why would they keep cyclists off the roads?"  Then I remembered that in Albion, "pavement" refers to what most Americans call a "sidewalk."

As she points out, the rule made sense in 1931: Nearly everybody walked, and they used their bicycles for distances that were too great to walk.  Hence, pavements were full of couples and families out for a stroll or to shop, people going to work or school on foot, and children playing.  There was little automobile traffic, and it traveled at much slower speeds than today's vehicular throngs.  Moreover, she says, drivers were more conscious of cyclists, as most were, or had recently been, cyclists themselves.

On the other hand, she says, there is far less pedestrian traffic--in some places, practically none--today.  And for cyclists--especially older and less athletic ones--riding with fast-paced automobile traffic can be dangerous.

As I read her post, I thought about some of my experiences cycling in Florida.  As in Zandranna's Dorset, there is little pedestrian traffic outside of the downtown shopping districts of larger cities like St. Augustine or Daytona Beach.  Nearly everyone relies on motorized vehicles for transportation as well as recreation (sometimes to carry a bike to a trail!), and drivers routinely exceed speed limits. 

Interestingly, some of the concrete ribbons that would be sidewalks or pavement in other areas are designated as bike lanes.  Many of them cross driveways of houses, some of which are set a considerable distance from the road.  And, of course, they cross intersections, which is not an ideal situation for the cyclist or driver.  The latter is anticipating, if anything, a pedestrian who will, of course, cross at a lower speed and in front of stopped traffic.   And, in Florida, pedestrians--particularly senior citizens--pause at intersections, even when they have the green light.

In addition, in Florida (at least the parts I've cycled), drivers are allowed to make right turns at red lights.  This is particularly dangerous for cyclists who are crossing from a sidewalk as a pedestrian would.  When a light turns as a cyclist crosses a traffic lane and motor vehicles begin to make right turns on red, at least the cyclist and motorists can merge safely.  A cyclist who begins to cross from a sidewalk or pedestrian lane runs a much greater risk of getting clipped if the light turns and motorists begin to make right turns.

I've noticed the same hazard on poorly-designed bike lanes that are separate from traffic lanes or sidewalks.  They often end in, or cross, intersections in the same way as a sidewalk or crosswalk would.  The Dutch, Danes and Swiss--and, to a lesser degree, the Germans and French--seem to have eliminated such hazardous crossings from most of their bike lanes.  At least, I don't recall encountering so many such crossing as I have in Florida or even here in New York.

Even Better Than Walking On Water

I don't remember whether I heard or read this bit of advice: Never ride through water if you can't see the bottom.

I'm sure most of you have heard something similar, perhaps in a parental lecture.  Yet, I'm sure most of you have gone against that admonition at some time or another.  I know I have on numerous occasions, with and without fenders and raingear.

It's almost inevitable that you'll ride through some inundated pothole, or slosh through some area where water has backed up because of a stopped or overflowing drain, especially if you use your bike as a vehicle after a storm like Sandy or the Nor'easter that's raging up this way.  If you've spent any amount of time riding off-road--especially if you ride cyclo-cross or  cross-country, as I did--you're almost certain to slice across a stream or muck your way through a marshy area.  And you more than likely won't know what you've gotten yourself into until you're soaked or covered with mud!

A British cyclist in the Lake District took the challenge of riding through a (visually, anyway) bottomless body of water.  Sixteen-year-old Matt Whitehurst claims he rode across 75 foot-deep Lake Buttermere last July.

He claims that Photoshop was not involved in any way, shape or form. 

What's that lump under his rear tire?  Could he be on the back (or head) of the Loch Ness Monster?  Hmm...If that's the case, does his feat qualify as cycling--or surfing?

No Shopping This Season?

It seems that since Hurricane Sandy left, the weather has been colder than I can recall it being at any time last winter.

Of course, I don't claim to remember every single day about last winter.  (At my age, it's hard to remember every day last week!)  But I do recall that it was an exceptionally mild season, and that we had our only snow well before the winter started and a couple of cold days after it ended. But in between, the only signals of the season seemed to be the bare trees and short days.

So now I have some winter clothing I bought last year but never used.  Mainly, I bought wool undergarments and socks, as well as some insulated waterproof boots. 

The good news is that I don't have to buy those things this year, and that even if I do no clothes shopping for this winter, I'll still have some things I can donate to the hurricane victims.

Somehow I suspect this winter won't be so mild.  

Light At The End Of The Storm

I don't mind cloudy days.  Actually, I like them, especially for cycling, particularly along a seacoast.

However, during the past few days, clouds have spread a thick gray curtain between us and the light of the day, even though Sandy had passed.  

Today, though, those clouds gave way to the less ominous overcast skies one often sees in coastal areas.  And we saw something that might have been reported as a UFO, given recent conditions:  the sun.

In fact, near the end of my ride this afternoon, I saw a sunset that caused me not to rue the fact that it came so early as a result of turning the clocks back an hour:

I captured the light as best I could with my cell phone from the Unisphere.

Deja Vu, All Over Again

As Yogi Berra once said, "It's deja vu all over again."

I could have said the same thing the other evening when I came to the Brooklyn side of the Manhattan and Brooklyn Bridges.  Motorized traffic had all but come to a standstill, and I could feel (and hear) the mounting tensions.  The bicycle and pedestrian lanes were better, if only in comparison. 

I suppose that the near-jamming of two-wheeled and two-soled traffic is a good sign:  At least some people realize that cycling (and walking) can be viable options for them.  Plus, cyclists and pedestrians seem to have more patience than motorists.

In witnessing the throngs of cyclists and pedestrians, I had a flashback:

Some say that the eleven-day New York City Transit Strike of 1980 was the first time since the turn of the century when large numbers of people rode bikes or walked to work.  Speaking anecdotally, I can say that is probably true:  Up to that time, I couldn't recall seeing so many people getting to their jobs or going to shop, or even to the movies or theatre, under their own power.  I was in my final semester at Rutgers and came into the city three times during that strike.  The second time, I brought my bike on the train into the city and the third time, I took the 25-mile ride in.

The strike is also said to have initiated the practice of wearing sneakers on the way to work and changing into heels or other dress shoes upon arriving.  I don't detect any sartorial statements emerging from the disruptions of mass transit caused by Hurricane Sandy.  However, I think--or, at least, hope--that some people who've begun riding or walking to work will continue to do so after full service is restored on the subways and buses.  It seems that many people who pedaled or hoofed it to work during the 1980 strike abandoned those habits once the trains and buses started to roll again.

I hope not to have deja vu about that!

Out And About After Sandy

I was lamenting the fact that I won't be able to take a big trip this year.

However, I am experiencing the weather and seeing the kind of light one finds in London, Copenhagen and other northern European capitals.  

Somehow, though, I don't imagine they've had anything like Hurricane Sandy.  Then again, I'm sure they have other kinds of rough weather that I didn't spend enough time in those places to experience.

But I digress. Apart from the chilly, damp air and gray skies, something else gives the part of the world in which I live the flavor of northern Europe:

Those bikes are parked outside PS 1.  It seems that every time I ride down that way, I see more and more bikes parked there:

Those racks, installed recently, aren't enough for the bicycle traffic that stops at the museum.  Almost as many bikes are locked and chained to lamposts, parking meters and other immobile objects on the surrounding blocks.  Some of those bikes are interesting and unusual, such as this one:

A few A. Sutter bicycles, which were made  France, made their way to these shores before and during the '70's "Bike Boom."  They are much like other French bikes of the period--a little nicer, perhaps than Peugeot, but not quite as nice as Motobecane. But definiely, quintessentially French, for better and worse.

I mean, nobody else did chainguards the way they did them in Gaul.  And their fenders are, rightly, the ones that inspire the ones Velo Orange and other companies make:

The bike in the photos, and most other A. Sutters, were manufactured in Chatellerault, in the Loire Valley. A. Sutter also offered a top-of-the line racing model that Olmo made in Italy.  Like most top-of-the-line Italian racing bikes (as well as some from other countries), it was equipped with Campagnolo Nuovo Record components.

I don't know whether A. Sutter is still in business--and, if they are, whether their bikes are still made in Chatellerault or anywhere else in France.

If they're still being made, I wonder whether they're available in the light blue of that bike. Lots of bike makers made light blue bikes, but this particular shade, by itself, all but marks it as a French Bike.

Now, for a very different blue bike, take a look at this:

You've probably seen Austro-Daimlers before.  They're another marque associated with the '70's Bike Boom.  They might be best-known for one of the most elegant catalogs ever produced and their pledge that their top-of-the-line bike, the Ultima, would "leave the factory in a specially prepared foam-filled case." The ladies' version of the Vent Noir might be the most elegant mixte that wasn't made by a French constructeur or English hand-builder!

Even their lower-and mid-level bikes reflected the attention to detail of their best machines:

I find it interesting to see bicycles like this one that are more than three decades old but look as if they just left the showroom.  Was it stored in one of those foam-filled cases?

Anyway, enough about bikes.   I took a spin down to Brooklyn, and passed by Pratt Institute. I can hardly imagine a campus looking more autumnal than this:

When The Streets Go Dark

Yesterday, I rode a bit.  Today, a little more.  

Today's travels took me to DUMBO, for no particular reason.  

Over the years, I've seen the area turn from an old warehouse and manufacturing district that was abandoned after sundown to a neighborhood where bookstores, cafes, boutiques and pet-accessory shops (It seems that everyone there has a dog!) line cobblestoned streets.

It sounds as charming as it is.  But I learned something about its atmosphere early this evening. Even with the lamps and candles glowing from windows, and the streetlights and the lights on the bridge, much of the ambient illumination actually comes from downtown Manhattan, less than a mile across the East River from the Fulton Landing.

The dark area to the left is downtown Manhattan--specifically, the area around Wall Street and the South Street Seaport.

This evening's ride was the first I've taken in that area for which I think more than one Knog Frog light (or a bigger, more powerful lamp) would have been handy.